Disclaimer: This story is total fiction and has nothing to do with any people and/or events in real life. Any similarity is a coincidence.

—•—•—•—•—•—

"Okay Kayla! Take a deep breath! You've done a lot of research. It's not gonna hurt. It'll be alright." After mumbling enough pep-talk to myself, I push the door in front of me open.

Soft instrument music greets me as I enter, immediately giving the parlor a friendly vibe. The room itself is spacious, bright, and clean with white furniture and neatly arranged decorations.

I take a few deep breaths, continue to give myself some pep-talk so not to turn around and run outside. See, Kayla! It's bright and clean, not intimidating at all.

Not
.
Intimidating
.
(My   chain of thought is interrupted by a shirtless man covered in tattoos emerging from under the counter.)

At all!

. . .

How stupid and funny I was earlier, thinking that pure expectation on encountering such heavily tattooed man, like the one I am now facing, and a little pep-talk would help getting over my extreme fear. I try to look only to his face and pull my blank mind to anything else than the tattoos right in front of my eyes. It's no use as my body's reaction is stating something else.

"I- I think I'm about to...."

Thud! My body gives out before I have the chance to finish my obvious prediction (or warning, to be exact).

.

.

.

After God knows how long, I regain consciousness on a couch, a very uncomfortable couch. My eyes flutter open as I take in my surroundings.

Nope! Not a couch! I find myself half lying, half sitting on some kind of chair, a tattoo chair, I guess.

The room I find myself in looks completely different from the lounge. Don't get me wrong, it's still neat, just... not quite as bright and welcoming. It has a dark look with black walls and very little decoration, mostly tools and equipment.

"Ugh! Where am I?"

"B&B tattoo parlor, miss! How are you doing?"

I turn to find a man sitting nearby. He grabs a glass of water and comes closer while I sit up.

"H- Hi! I'm good... I think."

His look totally opposes to the man I saw earlier (before I embarrassingly fainted, of course) — clean cut and no tattoos, at least in sight. He has a dark color button up shirt on and a pair of black trousers, which really emphasize his features and light brown hair. He looks like a nice, warm and gentle man who you could easily talk to if you happen to meet during a run in the park or when you are lost and need help with directions. Actually, if meet elsewhere, he could be easily taken as a lean and extremely attractive intellectual, to be honest. However, his facial expression is cold, not ice-cold, but emotionless-cold, to be exact.

"I'm Clint, Clint Burton."

"Kayla, and I rather not saying my surname."

"Nice to meet you, Kayla! May I ask what you are doing here?"

Of course, he has to ask that. One couldn't just come into a tattoo shop without any purpose. Here's the moment of truth, Kayla. Woman up and speak!⸺ After mentally preparing myself, I take in a deep breath and blurt out.

"I want to get a tattoo."

The man nods casually and takes off to grab a binder from a shelf.

"I thought so. Have you got anything in mind, or you want to look at some samples? Here's a portfolio of results taken from our previous customers if you are wondering about what our works actually look like."

"Please don't!" I say with a shout, as I close my eyes right before he opens the portfolio in front of my eyes.

Being here is terrifying enough, I can't take looking at 'samples', not even a glance. I peek one eye open to see Clint has taken back his album. He is also taken aback a little with surprise.

"Uh...."

"Sorry, I don't mean to be rude. I just-" I stop at the look on his face. Clint has furrowed his eyebrows, so, Drop it, Kayla, you are only confusing him deeper. "Can you do soundwave tattoos?"

"Yeah, sure! We'll need the exact sound wave stencil first."

"Sorry. I didn't know what to expect so I didn't prepare anything."

"That's okay. I'll show you what you need to do, then you can come back tomorrow."

"T-to-tomorrow?" The fact that I have to return here hits me hard as a lightning bolt.

"Yeah. It's almost 7PM now. We're closing."

I'm suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, my breath is quickly broken into short bursts. My heart is thumping crazily in my chest. Sweats begin to bead out all over my body, mostly on my forehead, neck and back.

"Miss, are you alright?"

My palms go numb. All I can feel is the tingling sensation. I am dizzy and weak as if all the strength has left me.

"It's... okay... I'm gonna be... fine," I manage to say between the breaths. I hold my hands together as they start shaking.

"You don't look or sound okay." Clint's eyebrows furrow. There's concern on his face. He stands up abruptly. "Let me get you to the hospital."

"NO!" I use almost all my strength left to say out loud.⸻ "Please!" Great, now my voice is barely a whisper.

"Are you having a panic attack?" He sits down and grabs my shaking ice-cold hands. "Let me guess. You have a phobia of tattoos or something?"

"Needle phobia!"

"Right. You'll be better outside."

Clint picks me up in bridal style like I weight nothing. It's a bit embarrassing, but I don't have the energy to protest.

"Brad!" he calls out to someone, "Can you grab me a chair and put it in our backyards?"

"Just a minute!" the voice from the lounge response.

From the corner of my eye, I see the intimidating guy from earlier emerging into the room. As soon as I get a glimpse of him, I immediately hide my face into the nearest place, Clint's chest. I can stop seeing but cannot stop the sound from coming.

"Hey! What is going on here?"

He definitely saw my action and I can tell he is not happy about it. Could it be that they are more than business partners? A couple, maybe, and I'm now in his partner's arms. What have I done? Well, nothing much, I buried my face into his partner's body, for heaven's sake, and successfully made the situation more awkward by being a coward. But Gosh, can you blame me? I have a needle phobia. I want to turn away but with him being right there I can't. This is not good, not good at all.

"You scare her, Brad!"

"I didn't do anything."

"Put a Goddamn shirt on! She has needle phobia and your tattoos are making her panic attack worse."

"OK! OK! I'm on it."

After I am put down on a chair in the backyard porch, calmness finally seeps in slowly. I look at Clint apologetically.

"Are you two together? I'm sorry I didn't mean to make your partner mad."

"Ha ha ha ha ha!"

A loud laugh hits me from behind and I almost jump off the chair. The intimidating man is stepping out onto the porch again. Thank God most of his tattoos are hidden under a long-sleeve hoodie this time.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you or scare you earlier. But... Bwah ha ha ha..." The guy bursts out laughing again.

Clint doesn't look... pleased to say the least if I don't want to point out that he is fuming.

"My bro here is Asexual. He's not capable of having a partner."

"Bro? You two are brothers?"

"Oh! Not blood-related, but we're as close as brothers."

"As you may have heard from him, the name is Brad, Brad Langsley. We run this place together."

He reaches his hand out for a handshake and I hesitantly take it.

"I'm Kayla. I don't mean to be rude, but your... artwork triggers my phobia. Hope you don't mind."

"It's OK. I didn't catch your last name, though, just to check your appointment."

"No, I didn't know I must book an appointment, and I... rather not...."

"Oh, it isn't strictly required, but you do need the appointment for next time so don't be shy."

"Brad!" Clint let out a low nagging growl.

"Come on, girl," Brad clearly ignore his business partner, "Nothing hurts out of saying your surname."

"It's... Stepford."

"Stepford? As in... 'The Stepford Wives'?" asks Brad.

"Yeah."

"Huh.... I guess it's fair you don't want to brag about it."

Clint smacks his friend's head from behind.

"Owww!"

"Next time, when our customer says no, it's a no. Don't push it."

"You don't need to hit me like that, though."

"It won't get into your thick skull if I don't."

"I'm not that bad."

"You are."

"Wait, did you say 'customer', Clint?" Not waiting for a reply, he turns to me. "Baby girl, with your phobia, are you sure you can handle that?"

"The name's Kayla, not baby girl, but yes to answer your question. I can and I will. Even if I faint every time I catch a glimpse of a needle, I need to do this."

At my statement, both men look at me wide-eyed. After a while, Brad breaks the silence.

"Care to explain why?"

"Brad! Stop it!"

"No, Clint, this is for the sake of our parlor conscience, business conscience." Without any pause after the snap-back, Brad turns to me with a cold stern voice, "If you're doing it because of a dare from your sorority or a challenge from any of your stupid friends, you should leave."

Now that is offending. "No, I'm turning 25 already and fully aware of my actions. And don't call my friends stupid, you don't even know them."

As if the annoyance in my voice is not clear enough for him to recognize, Brad continues interrogating me. "Oh, is it that you heard of Clint here and decide to give it a try at "conquering the odd" to pump your already-giant ego? I know he is good looking, but you should know better than believing in rumor that he is just 'hard to conquer' and 'fake asexual to avoid girls'."

He shoots me a skeptical look. This time, Clint also join in the force.

"NO!" This is frustrating. "Can a girl do something without being judged?"

"Sorry! Sorry! I overstepped the line."

I roll my eyes and let out an audible sigh. Doubt is still written in capital letters on his face. There's no way that apology is sincere.

"Look, my mother passed away a month ago. When I found out about soundwave tattoos, I decided to get one to be able to listen to her again. Is that reason good enough for you?"

Both men nod in reply instead of answering verbally.

After a while, Clint says, "I'm sorry to hear that."

I swear I can still see a strand of doubt coiling around their assumption as they are nowhere near ready to give it up yet. Intentionally, I heave out a sigh.

"Gosh! Artists and their... art conscience!"

"I'm not the tattoo artist."

This time, I'm the dumbfounded one.

"Clint is." Brad continues, "His only job here is tattooing and taking care of his tools while I do the rest to keep the place running. Oh, I am Clint's canvas also, or lab mouse to put it frankly."

This is unexpected, a tattoo artist without any tattoos on him and a salesman covered in them... Life is full of surprises sometimes.

As I'm still processing this fact, Clint jumps in and cuts the conversation short. "OK! Have you got the audio recording of what you want to turn into a tattoo?"

"I have."

"Good. How about the app?"

"What app?"

"Take out your phone, please. I'll show what you need to prepare."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Clint give Brad a cue to retreat in silence. Men! Too proud to admit they're wrong.

~*~

My appointments are always booked at the end of the day. Appointments, you may ask? Well, most of the time, I am always nearly passing out on the tattoo chair. It's dangerous if I do because I could hurt myself falling onto the equipment, so we have to break my process into many small appointments.

Today is my last appointment. This torture is finally over!

Clint is doing a final touch up. He really immerses himself in the work. As for me, I am always busy controlling my phobia hopelessly. That's why we never talk to each other during the session.

"There we go!"

I almost jump when Clint breaks the silence. I know, I'm such a scaredy-cat, but can you blame me for being jittery when facing my fear?

"Phew! Wow! OK! So it's done."

"Do you want to try it out?"

"Yes, yes! That would be lovely."

I get my phone with my still-"slightly"-shaking hands. The new tattoo is scanned and a soft voice flows out in no time.

'I love you. Be strong, honey!'

That was one of the very few times she told me she loved me. She said this when she was first in the hospital three years ago to start the cancer treatment, knowing she had little time left and felt bad about leaving my 17-year-old brother in my care, a 22-year-old girl then, as my father passed away a few years prior to that. She told me to be strong for my brother, that's the original message. For something to stay on my skin for the rest of my life, I have a different idea. I want to be selfish and have it about me and to myself only.

Clint gently wipes something away from my cheek. I didn't know I was in crying. However, I'm not the only one surprised by the act, Clint is too. It is out of character for him as this man seems to care for nothing besides tattooing. Don't let him fool you. He may look friendly, but he is actually cold and distant.

Clint clears his throat. "You know about the aftercare already, but I have to say it. Please treat your tattoo with delicacy, or else it will be ruined. Your skin will be ruined."

"I'll be careful with it."

"Just being careful is not enough. You have to..."

"I know." I cut him off as his overprotective mode towards his art-child is on. "I'll make sure it will be treated properly."

Clint is scratching the back of his head as he realized that he may have overreacted. However, he stays silent.

"I guess this is it. Thank you for being extremely patient with me. Oh, please send my appreciation to Brad also. I know he has to leave early because of me."

I pause a bit to wait for a reply, but Clint seems to be thinking hard about something else. I guess that's my cue to leave him alone.

"Goodbye, Clint! Have a nice weekend."

I am about to turn and head out when, suddenly, Clint grabs my elbow. He then immediately lets go as if he had an electric shock.

"Kayla! I... I thought that..."

I look at him, but he averts his eyes. I stand there, waiting for him to continue.

"I never thought I could be interested in someone, but... Do you have any plans after this?"

Stunned, I shake my head slightly.

"Good. Let's go out for dinner, shall we? My treat."

Did... did he just make a move on me?

.

.

.

Clint turns out to be a sweet guy when you get to know him. No, 'when he allows you to get to know him is more like it. He still keeps a certain distance even though it looks like he is trying to pursue me.

The night is coming into an end, drawing into silence as if it is a nice and cozy blanket.

"Let's be honest, Clint! It's not me you are interested in, right?"

He smiles at me, calm, soft, and still. "What makes you say that?"

"Pure intuition."

"And I thought something I did gave it away."

"Partially, yeah."

"You are sharp."

I see a glint in his eyes. At this point, saying I'm not attracted to him is telling a lie. It's mild until I see that flash. It triggers my curiosity as I don't know what it indicates.

"Thank you," I answer with a smile.

"Now you've really got my attention." Clint downs his drink. "I don't know how to name this yet, but I do feel some kind of attraction towards you. Say, Kayla, are you willing to give it a go with me?"

"Then there's something youshould know first. I'm a gray ace."